


Rewiring

by InediblePeriwinkle



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Jumping Timeline, M/M, Mild Sexual Undertones, mild violence, right hand man reborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InediblePeriwinkle/pseuds/InediblePeriwinkle
Summary: Reginald has been in prison for a long, long time. He's had a lot of time to think, plan, and recall where's he's been in his life. He can hope for a better future, but something tells him he's out of luck.A prison break was always expected, but even in his worse case scenarios he didn't expect everything to be so disheartening.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 14
Kudos: 118





	Rewiring

**Author's Note:**

> Something just a little different.

Reginald absolutely expected a breakout. 

It was coming any day now. Any day. He’d spent ages under scrutiny, away from everyone else and on his own schedule. Plenty of time for guards to make his life miserable, but that was fine. Once he was out, he would make sure they paid for the words, the injuries, the harassment. Twentyfold. He was just biding his time. 

His hair was unkept and wild, normally-immaculate mustache scruffy and uneven and curling from nervous fidgeting. He’d lost a good amount of weight, as well, his clothes had taken to hanging off his already-slender frame. The first thing he’d do was get himself properly groomed and refitted.

Then, he was going to burn this damned place to the ground and then take a nice, long nap. 

Reginald waited. 

He listened to people talk about the changing seasons. The time passing. It all felt surreal to him, just a couple more grey hairs amid brown or new lines next to his eyes. 

No one came. That was where things started going badly. 

While he had hope, he’d been able to manage. Had been feisty, smarmy, a smug bastard dethroned but waiting. Now, he paced his cell like a caged animal and was silent when his meals were withheld. He jerked awake every hour or so, listening to see if he was hearing the first sounds of his breakout. 

Because it was coming, right? He was the Toppat Leader. He’d taken it from Terrence, he’d dragged the entire operation from the dirt and turned it into the glory it was today. He brought his family to light and riches, an organization to be proud of. They needed him. All of them did. 

At the very least, he’d expected to see Right at some point. If nothing else, to just get him out of here and plan to take back over the operation. 

That’s how it should have been. Right should be in his place and Sven should be elevated to second in command whether he wanted it or not. Then they could come get him, and Reginald’s plans for the space station could continue. 

Or maybe they’d launch and _then_ come get him, and maybe that was why it was taking so long? 

Or were they dead. He’d heard that Right went down, that he was solidly kicked, and the person over comms had been so vague that he wasn’t- 

Look, he hadn’t asked for clarification, because that government-aligned twat had been running around, all full of potential and no loyalty at all, the self-serving shithead, he’d been occupied. He hadn’t even asked if he was alright. 

RHM always bounced back. He was fine. He was taking his time. 

He had taken to planning heists for places that didn’t exist. Just for something to do. Writing invisible blueprints on the concrete walls and imagining leading a team of his own in through the doors, even though that had never been his strong point. 

Oh no, he’d never been someone to enforce. He was the schemer; a charming, conniving con man with a penchant for understanding how the details would work out in the long run. He’d had Right for actual force. As a bodyguard, a confidant, a physical edge to Reginald’s words. 

Where was everyone?

He wandered around the blank space of yard he was allowed out in when the guards were feeling generous. They were talking to each other, behind him, as he walked with his hair swept back and hands in his pockets. 

Reginald murmured steps of the latest entry to himself, a four-story museum with pressure plate alarms and instant-locking doors. You just had to make sure you didn’t immediately trigger an alarm and somehow keep the guards from rushing to the area. If you had a getaway person, it would be simple. What if he didn’t? What if he had to go through the thing solo? What would he change? 

Reginald kicked a loose stone across the yard, watching it bounce into the dying blades of grass. 

He felt like he’d aged a decade. He was kept so in the dark, away from anything, to keep him from calling reinforcements. 

Reginald stared down at the grass, sweat dripping down his neck. 

With the Toppats, he was one of the most powerful people on Earth. He knew how to utilize their many, many talents and set them on the same course. Maybe he wasn’t individually, personally strong, but that itself was something very few leaders previous had been able to do. 

He was important. He was vital. 

If Right was alive, certainly he’d be coming for him, right? Right? His family would come back for him. They wouldn’t leave him here. 

Reginald was alone. 

“Times up!” A guard lazily called. “Back inside.” 

Reginald closed his eyes, setting his jaw. 

“Copperbottom.” 

He was a criminal well before he’d joined the organization his parents had died in. Surely- 

“Now.” 

“Why don’t you,” Reginald spun around, all lithe movements and unfriendly smiles, “Hush and give me a moment to think?” 

One guard pushed himself off the wall, the other waved him off lazily. 

“What are you going to do?” The relaxed one smiled at him. 

He’d stab him in the neck if he was allowed something sharp enough. Reginald shifted as the other one walked closer but didn’t back away. 

He was tired, he was angry, and he’d really like to make one of these guys hurt about now. Reginald couldn’t even throw a decent punch. His shoulder slumped before one was even roughly grabbed. 

“It’s not near time for anything like this,” The lazy guard raised their eyebrows. 

Reg’s sharp eyes flit to him. 

The other didn’t even change expression, but they held his gaze. Reginald always had a talent for remembering faces. It was a handy talent in his line of work. 

Young. He’d been new, light green hat, he hadn’t bothered to learn his name yet. Let them advance a little before he bothered with who they were, after all. But he’d been there. Just hired, quickly introduced as they boarded the airship. 

Reginald said nothing, suddenly becoming compliant. His hair was falling back into his eyes, around his ears, unruly, frizzy curls instead of the comforting brim of one of his hats. 

He looked a mess. He’d rather they sent someone familiar, this wasn’t the best impression. 

Reginald walked with a steel-straight spine, a smug sort of self-confidence seeping back into his exhausted body. 

Three guards were walking towards them, in step and comically various heights. Reginald was gleeful, smiling brightly as the trio walked up. 

“Hello!” Gremlin cheerfully shot the actual guard in the face, waving with her free hand. “Good to see you, Chief.” 

Reg inclined his head, looking over Kabbitz, The Ruffian. Hampton waving from down the hallway. 

He was home. 

His legs were trembling as he was quickly escorted through the hallway. He hadn’t walked for this far in ages but he wasn’t about to collapse right now. Kabbitz had a gorilla grip on his arm, uncomfortably, half-dragging him past cells. 

“It took you long enough,” The Leader couldn’t help but complain, heart soaring. “We’ve broken into places worse than this.” 

“Lots of things have changed, Boss,” Hampton, ever the helpful one, took his other arm when he saw Reginald trembling. “You won’t believe everything that’s happened.” 

His feet stumbled and he was quickly righted, Gremlin with her weapon drawn and ready, Ruffian taking point. 

“How long has it been?” He had to ask, peering up at the two boys. 

“Long,” Kabbitz said. “We’re taking you to base.” 

Base. Which base was nearer to here? Reginald was sucking in breaths like a drowning man, trying to think. 

“Daggerport?” He asked. Nice place. Underground bunkers, nice and cozy. 

“Daggerport’s shot,” Hampton was listening to someone over headset. “No. We have to take you farther. There’s not many of us left.” 

Reginald stared. 

Hampton had new scars. Not unusual in this line of work, Reginald had his share from his rookie days when he was on the field. A bullet wound. 

Kabbitz looked tired. Like weary, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made a man sleep for days on end. Ruffian was skinnier than he remembered. Gremlin looked unchanged, if her attitude was a little forced. He remembered too little about the new one to know. 

“What happened?” He asked, over gunfire between Gremlin, Ruffian, and the guard crew. 

“Later, Chief,” Hampton promised. “Later.” 

He was scooped up by Kabbitz, which ordinarily would have sent him seething. 

The only person allowed to touch him, ever, was Right. Much less do something as degrading as carry him like a rag doll. 

He could hear the shots continuing, echoing in his ears. It rang against his skull, an endless sort of sound like a chime in a well. 

There was a reason, wasn’t there? Of why he wasn’t being pressed against his Right Hand Man’s chest instead. A familiar wall of muscle, warm and breathing. Being cradled in something so powerful, treated carefully. It had been so odd, had really stamped itself in his memory. Funny how he’d never really paid him attention before. Not like that, anyway. 

-

He’d been so young, back then. Early twenties. Been in the Clan for a good number of years, ever since his parents died in service to the family. Earned him a decent job, if not glamorous. But Reginald was a schmoozer. He wormed his way into the presence of many Elites, and one in particular pissed him right the fuck off. 

The Big Boss himself. Reginald hated him. 

Terrence had burned his last bridge with Reginald. Stupid waste of a man, he was. Their last mission was sent for no reason, just to keep things moving, he came back empty handed and down two people on his team and it was happening again and again and again. 

It was the bravest thing he’d ever done, people told him, but they hadn’t realized he’d simply been pissed. He’d shouted Terrence down because he was tired, furious, and two of his only friends were dead. 

He was going to kill him.

He’d come back that night, seething, had told Right (He’d gone by something else, then, he was Elite and Reginald had not been and why had he paid him any attention at all?) where he was going. 

The conversation was a blur. The scars from the bullets was still clear on his skin to this day. 

He’d been cradled, a scruffy red moustache above him, a low brim shadowing his face. His coat was pressed against his chest, stopping the blood, and Reginald had stared up at him. 

He’d needed a blood transfusion. The fact he survived at all had left the entire Clan gobsmacked. 

He used that. Reginald wasn’t strong, he was clever, and he’d made his bid for leader. Him, the injured one, strong enough to survive a bullet to the chest and one burning a mark across his shoulder. He was all of them, tired and exhausted and done. He would chase Terrence down himself. 

This time, with someone else by his side. Quiet, but equally ready to end his reign. Someone who, among the Elite, threw in his bid for Reginald to take his place. 

He had elevated him out of a need to keep that bid in place. He hadn’t realized then, but it was the best decision he’d made in his life.  
-

Reginald’s head rolled, smacking hard against something. 

He squinted, through long, newly cleaned, brown-grey curls. Over a decade from that day, his bid to become Leader. 

He had an IV in. Heart monitor. A worried looking _child_ that must be a newbie to the ranks. Couldn’t be older than college age. 

“Stay down, Sir,” They said awkwardly. 

“Vinschpinsilstien?” Reginald asked, pawing at his face. 

“Delirium,” The kid muttered, writing something in a chart by his bed. 

“No,” Reg struggled to sit, arms trembling. “Vinschpinsilstien. Head of medical science. This is…this is her lab.” 

All of her talk had been well above his ability. He’d pretended he’d known what the hell she was talking about and stared off at the walls. Machines. The sterile room was easy to recognize after that. 

“I don’t know who that is,” The child said blankly, and Reginald was out of patience. 

“I will rip this IV out right now,” He flicked his arm, “If you do not get me someone who knows who I am _immediately_.” 

The kid skittered away and that felt more familiar. 

Reginald ran a hand over his hair. His eyelids were heavy and brain felt like it was taking a nice cruise from one side of his skull to the other. 

He eyed the IV suspiciously. 

“Am I being drugged?” He asked Hampton when the boy walked in. 

“You’re high as a kite, Chief,” The man assured him. “Enjoy it.”

Reginald sent him a peevish look, reaching to smooth his moustache and noticing his heavily bandaged hand. 

“Sven’s on his way,” Hampton said, leaning back against something that looked expensive. “Then I’m off to get the shields up.” 

“Vinschpinsilstien,” Reginald tried again, “We’re up North.” 

“Good job,” Hampton’s gentle congratulations was infuriating. “We are. She’s not with us anymore, but that is where we are.” 

He never realized how utterly annoying this one was. 

“What…” He held up a hand, not the one with the IV, the bandaged one, realizing he was bandaged around his left ankle also. That and his chest was hurting. 

“You were hit pretty bad, Boss,” Hampton told him. “What, did you get into a prison fight?” 

Nope. Just a few guards who thought his situation was amusing. He hadn’t realized he’d hurt anything badly enough to treat. 

Reginald shook his head, fluffy curls bouncing around his face. He was slicing his hair off and slicking it back immediately. He needed it out of his face. 

A blond head poked into the room and Reginald pointed Hampton out. 

“Some thanks,” The guy said, still leaning. 

Reginald met his eyes. He wasn’t fucking around. 

Hampton shrugged, leaving the room, leaving Sven standing across the room from a very tired and grouchy Toppat Leader. 

“That’s the second person you’ve chased from the room in five minutes,” Sven noted, “Are you feeling better, Boss?” 

Reginald stared at him, unmoving, feeling an ache in his bones and positively ancient. 

“How many of us are left?” He asked, trying to keep his bleary eyes open. 

“You’re not really well, Chief.” 

“ _Svensson_.” 

“Not many.” 

A spike of fear speared ice-cold through his heart. 

“Fuck,” He grunted, rubbing his face. 

“Yes,” Sven scratched his cheek. “It’s been really bad. Not going to lie. It took me forever to find the plans for the space station-”

Reginald looked back up so quickly that the room spun dangerously. 

“-it went badly,” Sven winced, and Reg lowered his gaze again. 

In tatters. He let himself get taken and they were in shreds. That shouldn’t have happened. They talked about this, about what they would do if Reginald died. Same idea. They had a plan. 

“Right is dead,” Reginald said through numb lips, “Isn’t he?” 

He didn’t remember hearing a reply, was fairly certain he’d been knocked out before he got one, and suspected his face bounced off the bed railing before he did. 

They prepared for this. You had to, that was what your Right Hand was for. In the event of your death or absence, your Right Hand will continue your will and vision for as long as they are able. As long as your Right Hand is in charge, it’s considered part of your rule. Once they’re overthrown, then that was a new animal. 

-

“No one’s likely to,” Right had said gruffly, arms crossed from across the table. 

He’d been uncomfortable. Reginald could spot that in him miles away. But they’d had this conversation before, he’d just have to get over it.

“Well, humor me,” Reginald had pointed his chopsticks, elegant and poised, at the man’s irritable face. “Things have changed since the space station plan. I need to make sure it gets done if I’m killed before it happens.” 

Right twirled one of his chopsticks around gnarled fingers like it had been a throwing knife. Reg was pretty sure the group of friends a table over were still staring at them. 

He hated going out in public. Somehow they seemed to radiate chaotic energy or something, because everyone was so fucking in their business. 

That was why he snuck out once in a while. He just wanted a conversation free of any Toppat influence, just two friends out having lunch at a delightfully hip and clean sushi restaurant. 

Or otherwise. You were incredibly dissuaded from dating your Right Hand. If things went sour, after all, the entire Clan could all fall to pieces. It was too many lives to waste on wanting someone. 

Not that this had ever stopped Reginald. At all. 

They were partners and sometimes it became a little more than platonic. They knew where each other’s boundaries were, they knew everything about one another at this point. That was why Reginald didn’t touch Right at the moment, even though he’d like to press his hand into his and caress his thumbs over bony knuckles.

“What if I say no?” Right asked, then, staring somewhere beyond Reginald’s right shoulder. 

The Toppat Leader looked at him, incredulous. 

“We’ve talked about this sort of thing before!” The brunet said, scratching at his moustache. “This isn’t new, Right.” 

His second in command looked at him, light eyes busy with something he just couldn’t decipher. 

“Nothing is going to happen,” Reg said with derision, “But it’s a conversation we damn well need to have!”

“You’re makin’ a scene,” The redhead muttered. 

“I’m-” He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply. “I don’t understand why you’re getting upset about this.” 

“Dunno.” 

“Well, great,” Reginald tossed his napkin onto the table, “Glad I can count on you.” 

“You _can_ count on me,” Right snapped back at him, “It’s just a feeling, would you like me to-”

“Can I get you gentleman anything else?” A particularly brave waitress filled Reginald’s glass as he tried to keep his cool. 

“Just the cheque, please,” Reg told her, glaring at Right over the rim of his glass. “My husband will be paying.” 

The woman smiled sweetly and Right turned a vivid red. 

The Toppat leader leaned back in his chair, smirking, as Right hastily pulled the brim of his hat down. 

“Shouldn’t do that,” He was mumbling, as if Reginald couldn’t still see the red of his ears. 

“Tell her I’m joking, then,” Reg said, knowing Right would do no such thing. “And just get it done. Soon as we’re back” 

Right had speared the chopstick through sliced eel and reached in his back pocket for his wallet.

-

He felt so groggy when he next woke that he stared at the man beside his bed for an unblinking seven seconds before he realized it was Sven once again. 

“Alright?” The boy checked. 

“Yeahhh.” Everything was weightless, floating, a seductive beckon back into sleep. 

“They want you to eat.” 

“Quite the task.” 

Sven shook his head at him, hands on his hips, startlingly blue among all this sterile white. 

Reginald stared at the ceiling, florescent light searing his retinas. 

“I could go for sushi,” He said, running a hand over his own knuckles. 

“That’s nice, Boss,” He was given an extremely sad sandwich instead. “Maybe once we rejoin society we’ll order pickup, Ja?”

God. Fresh food, and bread that was so soft it left imprints from his fingers. He wolfed the sandwich down, somehow hungrier after the sandwich than before. 

“Let’s wait,” Sven leaned heavily against the bed, looking tired, “Make sure you don’t get sick. It’s good to have you back, Chief, I’m so tired of making decisions.” 

Reginald couldn’t connect those two sentences in his mind and gave it up. 

“Why am I being drugged?” He asked, ignoring the squeezing pain of hunger in his stomach. 

“You were hurt pretty bad,” Sven tilted his head, blond hair flopping into his face, “You broke your wrist. Tore a few things. And you’ve become so…you just really look different.” 

“Well I was left to rot in a prison for about a year,” Reg couldn’t help but bite, “What did you expect to find, Sven?” 

Whoops. Used his first name. He tried not to do that professionally, not that he was a stickler when not in the spotlight. He tended to let things slide when in private.

It worked, anyway, the boy looked ashamed. More like when he was younger, when he’d first started talking to Right about his potential. 

“Take me off the medication,” Reginald ordered, running a bandaged finger over his IV line. “I’m getting out of this bed. Today.” 

“Boss,” Sven started-

“Today,” Reginald narrowed his eyes, willing the room to still. “And we’re getting everything back on track.” 

Sven hesitated and Reg was a little disappointed. Being the acting leader, he ought to have fought Reginald. The dominant leader was still Copperbottom but at least now he had a chance to get him where he needed to. 

“Excellent,” The Toppat Leader snipped, “Glad we have that settled.” 

Sven ducked his head like a scolded son. 

Reginald blinked against his fuzzing vision, pushing his thumbnail into the tube running into his arm. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Reg asked again. 

“To be honest, Boss, this is probably worse.” 

-

Reginald’s quarters were always extravagant, whether he was in air, on land, by sea. He had a different taste from previous Leaders, but one thing remained the same. You never entered the Leader’s living quarters. It was their one place for solace. 

His solace was getting some serious wandering hands right about now, running roughly-padded fingers over his stomach. 

“I’m working,” Reginald told him, nudging his arm away with an elbow. “If someone makes a single mistake tomorrow, all my work is for nothing.” 

He’d went through this more times than he could estimate. Everything was in it’s place and going so well, he was worried. Nothing ever went this smoothly. He had to be overlooking something. Forgetting a detail. 

Hands stroked over his skin again, dipping lower, brushing the top of his trousers. 

“Nothing left we can do, now,” Right murmured, “Let it go, Reg.” 

“Right, since I’m known for that.” His breath stuttered. 

He was in a mood tonight, Reginald was a weak, weak man, and Right knew what he liked.

Of course he did. They’d been inseparable since Terrence died, entangled for years, they knew each other in every way one could. It was comforting, a constant, one thing in his insane life that he could really count on. Trust. Even if he’d been shoving it away, lately. 

The whispers of him being weak were getting to him. True, he wasn’t one for combat and he never had been, he was smaller than the average man and slender. No muscle, just a soft roundness and difficulty being in any sort of fight that didn’t involve firearms. 

Reg tilted his head back, styled hair hitting a wall of muscle, looking up at his partner. 

Not like that one. Ripped, rough, quick to end a fight but slow to start one. He was physically intimidating, made to be an enforcer. Better at following orders than coming up with plans, but willing to follow someone else’s to the letter. 

They made the perfect team. Reginald was clever, cunning, underhanded enough to wiggle out of trouble and honorable enough to remember who he owed his allegiance to. He was the heist master, his forever-buzzing brain always coming up with a new thought, a new plan, another way to get what he wanted and never quiet. 

Although sometimes even his multi-channeled network could go offline. Reginald’s legs trembled. 

This…this had started both incredibly early and far too late into their partnership. He’d been oblivious, uninterested, and Right had been so bad at expressing himself. It took Reginald making a first move to even happen, and it ended up not being as temporary or casual as he first expected. 

They fit together, understood one another, even if they didn’t always agree. In all aspects of their lives, so close that ‘you and I’ became ‘we’ before Reginald even realized he’d started talking for them both. 

Right’s breaths puffed against his heavily-styled hair, slicked back to hide the wave of it and bare of any hat. 

He didn’t overlook his feelings anymore and Right was now far better at asking for what he wanted. 

Improving yourself was important in any kind of relationship, especially when you were head of the largest criminal organization in the world and it’s leading enforcer. 

He’d never have made it this far without him. 

That was equally true for them both, and they both knew it. 

Reginald whimpered his name and the redhead kissed his forehead.

-

He woke up alone. 

Reginald lifted his head, ribs aching, listening intently. 

He was a light sleeper, always jerked awake at the slightest noise or spoken word. It wasn’t unusual. 

He sat up, pushing back hair he hadn’t yet gotten to getting cut. Someone had said his name. It was faint, a whisper on the edge of his consciousness. 

“Chief!” 

Sven. This was something normally Reginald would sit back safely for. But. Well. 

Reginald picked up his firearm, swiping his hat and heading to the door. He leaned his head against it, listening. 

“Boss!” Sven must have slammed his hand against the door and it nearly deafened Reginald. 

He jerked the door open, watching the boy jump. 

“They’ve found us,” The blond said, eyes serious and hat askew, “They’re in. Second level.”

“They’re _in_?” Reginald’s blood froze in his veins. “We’re in a damned bunker!” 

Sven made lilting, unhappy noises, fluttering his hands. “They’re in!” 

Oh god. 

No, no, no, no, no. Reginald shifted on his feet, closing his eyes. He breathed in heavily, ribs screaming in protest.

“Alright, everyone is leaving,” Reginald said, looking down the hall in frazzled frenzy. “Split in however many groups we need to.” 

“We’re not engaging?” Sven caught himself last minute. “-Sir?”

“Are you crazy?” Reginald hobbled over to shove on his boots, wincing as he brought it over his bad ankle. “We don’t have the resources for that!” 

“But Boss,” Sven protested, and Reginald shoved him back. 

“If you want to stay, risk the last of us on protecting a bunker that’s obviously _burnt_ ,” The Toppat Leader said furiously, “Feel free. But this will be on you. Are you ready for that?” 

The boy’s fire was immediately extinguished. He bit his lip, stepping away, hands folding behind his back. 

Reginald threw a jacket over his shoulders, shoving his arms through the long sleeves. 

“Everyone gets out,” He said, “We meet up in west mesa. You know the place.” 

“I’m staying with you,” Sven blurted. “Chief. I’ll have Gremlin lead the retreat.” 

“Whatever you do, do it quick,” Reginald ordered, and the two separated. 

He slipped down the hall, alone. Vulnerable. 

Someone was above, three levels above them, between them and the surface. Reg’s heart was going to give out. 

There were so few of them left. They lost contact with most of the divisions. Head of Communications was MIA and Reginald had no idea how to get in contact with the hidden divisions without their internal network online. 

Curtis had been the mouthpiece between the lower tiers and the Elite forces. If Sven hadn’t rounded up his own little team, Reginald would have had no one. 

Strike that, he wouldn’t have been rescued at all. 

The boy reappeared at his elbow, all worried looks and wild eyes. Reginald waited for him to catch up, weapon still at the ready. 

“They’re evacuating?” He asked, softly, focused on the door to the underground hangar. 

“They’re leaving from the east exit,” Sven recounted, “We’ll have some meeting us in the hangar.” 

“We’ll all just leave at once, then, if they can make it,” Reginald decided, finger still on the trigger of his firearm. 

“Or we could leave the slow behind,” Sven said incredulously. “Why wait and risk leaving- didn’t you just say it was a waste?” 

“It’s a waste to fight something you can’t win,” The Toppat Leader had spent decades in the organization, enough to know. “But if you start leaving people behind, you aren’t going to have anyone left, anyway.” 

Sven looked doubtful but this wasn’t the time for a life lesson. 

When Reg had taken over, the mortality rate had been slashed down a wild amount. He watched Terrence for too long to want to force fights that wouldn’t be won. A waste of life got you killed. He’d done the killing, after all. 

Well. Him or Right. Jury’s still out on that one. 

Reginald punched in the hangar code. They’d have to open the chute to the surface level before anything else. The exhaust would kill them well before any assassins. 

He shoved Sven in first, keeping himself low. The hangar was well open, only maintenance lights on since the place wasn’t operational. 

This place ought to be crawling with Toppats. They’d docked the airship here, once, this place could hold a massive stronghold. Who would have thought, looking at them now. 

“I can get us out,” Sven said, “If we can get launched before we get caught.” 

“Worry about that,” Reginald ordered, “And I’ll get everyone on-”

Searing pain. 

He at first thought his chest had given out, his heart or lungs had burst. He fell to his knees, stunned, gun clattering onto the walkway. 

Sven was shrieking. Reginald couldn’t focus. 

-

Keep  
Your  
Mouth  
Shut

A bullet for each word. Reginald was lucky he’d been too drunk to aim properly, or perhaps he hadn’t really been trying to hit him. 

He’d been shot, had bled, had stared down that barrel with hatred and thought to himself. 

_I am not going to die here, like this. Not without taking you with me._

-

He touched his chest, feeling no blood or shattered bone. Just a numb sort of pain and intense heat. 

Someone had tackled Sven down. Reginald crawled forward, reaching with improperly-healed fingers for his weapon. 

He rolled, gritting his teeth against the pain, aiming. 

He was still, dark eyes widening. Hands wrapped around Sven’s throat and Reginald’s vision blackened at the edges. 

He fired in the air, once, twice, a warning, a distraction. 

The man’s gaze whipped to him like a horror movie. Reginald was frozen in terror. 

Half of his face was gone. Covering god knows what, a metal plate was sealed over skin, covering his jaw, cheek, eye, and most of his forehead on the left side of his face. It was stitched with flesh oddly, stretching his lips into something obscene. 

Fear wasn’t enough of a word. Reginald was lost, staring at a blinking blue light where a solemn but so human eyeball had been. 

It came for him. This version of his partner, the man he’d come to trust with everything in his person. 

Half of his wild mane of hair, always smelling like pine and mint and freely unkempt, had been hacked into something short where metal met skin. His right arm shone, fingers screeching against the railing as he rushed him. 

Sven cried out, terrified, and Reginald willed him to take the shot. 

He was looking him in the eyes and there was no recognition there. Nothing at all, just fury. Hate. 

Metal fingers closed around his throat, something clicking in his neck, and Reginald pointed his gun downward and fired. 

The bullet ricocheted elsewhere. His leg had to be metal as well, Reginald couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, his vision was fuzzing and he struggled weakly. 

If he was gone, Reginald hoped he didn’t wake up once Reg was dead. Right was a far more softhearted person than he let on. 

He was dropped. He fell limply like a loose-limbed doll and he couldn’t hear at first. Not at first. He couldn’t see, in a sense, except for what was now seared into his memory for the rest of whatever of his life he had left. 

Hate. That was one thing that he’d never seen in the other. 

-

Indifferent. 

That was what Reginald had felt when he first saw him. Some gormless beefcake who must have wormed his way into the Elites, somehow. 

Reg was far more suited for the position among the Elites. He looked and dressed the part, he was intelligent, quick thinking, he had blood roots in the Toppats. He was meant to be here, bringing this strange and wild family to glory. 

He’d written him off immediately and continued to schmooze with those with an IQ higher than their grade point average. Yet when they crossed paths…

Reginald had been outright rude to him. Openly annoyed. Or else ignored him altogether until they both sat in silence. 

But they’d had missions together, brain and brawns, and they’d meshed together so effortlessly that Reginald had been on his guard. Had ignored him more than ever, focused on his goal of clambering up the ranks. 

Then he started confiding in him, what his desires were. Goals. Had startingly found support, became intrigued with this odd, quiet redhead. 

Turns out, he was far more clever than Reg had given him credit for. He’d noticed everything. Had noticed Reginald’s move to take a place among the Elites, had noticed his derision when it came to him, his growing irritation at Terrence, the only Elite who tolerated Reg and his Leader to boot. 

They’d had a rough start. But he’d never seen hatred in his eyes, before. 

Indifference? Yes. Irritation? Often. Resigned? Certainly. Right had never looked at Reginald like he was an enemy. Not even when the Toppat recruit had outright _called_ his then-superior a beefy, brainless idiot during a mission gone bad. 

Though, looking back, he might have caught onto the fact that Reginald found him attractive. He noticed everything, after all. Everything. 

And he’d still never hated him. 

-

Backup, that’s what had happened. Reginald stirred, feet away from the man who had once been his partner. Toppats were above, trying to coax the former second in command away from their injured leader. 

Reginald pushed himself upward on shaking arms, unsure if tears were in his eyes or if it was sweat. It stung regardless, and he couldn’t form words. 

“Come on, Boss, come on,” Sven was rambling at a great pace now, “Leave him alone. Someone come get him, please, someone get him out of here-”

Sven. Good kid. Reginald’s brain was slowly coming back online, steamrollering over the newly-acquired trauma. 

Right was staring at the kid, metal fingers twitching. He was still close enough that Reginald could see his reflection, wild hair and sunken eyes, an absolutely feral expression. 

They were both changed beyond repair, weren’t they? 

He was headed towards Sven. His children upstairs were not taking the shot. 

Reginald reached, one last time, for the gun. 

-

“Listen’a me,” Reg was trashed, reaching for Right, slinging an arm around his gorgeous shoulders. 

“If I ever get outta hand,” He jabbed a hand vaguely towards the wall Terrence’s picture hung upon. “Like him.” 

Like him. A ghost of the past, reminding Reginald what he could be if he let himself get too far into it. Let his mind rest, get complacent. 

“Yeah?” Right was equally as drunk, pushing up the brim of his hat. “Like ‘im. What of?” 

“If someone’s got to take that shot,” Reg paused to take a long swig of his drink, eyes burning, “It’s got to be you.” 

“Me?” He blinked, slowly, allowing Reginald to continue hanging off of him. “That’s what you want?” 

More than anything. 

“That’s what I want,” Reg affirmed, swaying slightly on his feet. “You.” 

“Ey,” Right’s lips twitched into a hint of a smile, “Right. If you do the same.” 

His drunken little heart squeezed. 

“I’d be _fucking_ honored,” Reginald tangled his fingers into long, thick hair, twisting it around his fingers. “I’ll be honored.” 

“Yeah,” Right clumsily wrapped an arm around Reg’s thin legs, tracing the seam. “Yeah, alright.” 

“Yeah,” Reginald repeated, staring down at him. “Alright.” 

Right put up with a ton from him. His rambling thoughts, emotional breakdowns, lack of self-defense skills, his desperate want to stick his tongue in his mouth. He put up with a ton, and actually, didn’t seem to mind sometimes at all. 

-

He was a terrible fighter. He was a wonderful shot. 

If he pulled the trigger now, it would all be over. If Reginald aimed to kill, Right would be dead to the world forever in about five seconds. 

The Toppat Leader took a long breath in between his lips. 

Sven could see what was happening. He had his hands up, was shaking his head, as if Reginald had a choice. They’d already talked about this. Years ago. 

“Don’t, don’t, don’t,” He didn’t know which of them Sven was talking to. Right was stepping closer. Closer. He needed to shoot before Sven was in danger of being shot also. 

“Look, you don’t wanna do this, this doesn’t make sense,” The boy tried to explain as Reginald aimed for the last time. 

“Don’t you know what you’re doing to the Chief?” 

He saw Right’s shoulders jerk. 

Reginald paused. 

“Come on,” Sven was always good at talking. At his words, at using them in situations where he ought to shut the fuck up and shoot. “The Chief has been through a lot already. We’ve lost everyone, Sir. Just about. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep going if you make him do this.” 

Reginald was not that fragile, Svensson. He must have made some kind of noise, because the man turned around in that quick, frightening way he had previous. 

This time, something was different. Right’s expressions were always subtle, but this was confusion. Disbelief, suspicion. Reginald waited, trying to look for a sign to which way this was going to go. 

“Right,” He rasped, and he watched the man’s human eye widen. 

The fury left his body. Right’s tense shoulders slumped, tense metal fingers hanging limp. 

He stumbled forward, metal limbs shining under trousers, flesh hand reaching for Reginald before he even collapsed beside him. 

Reg was still holding onto the gun with both hands, staring up at Right with parted lips, a blank, quiet mind. Not even daring to hope. 

Warm, human fingers brushed the long hair from his face, cupping Reginald’s face in all the tenderness of a man who let his actions speak for him instead. 

There, recognition, flooding Right's face and etching itself into the lines. He was staring down at Reginald with all the horror the other felt himself. His rough fingers brushed his chin, and Reginald found himself struggling to swallow.

He dropped the gun. 

A cold arm wrapped tightly around him, cool palm against his back, cradling him so hard against his chest that it hurt. 

Oh, definitely tears. Reginald closed his eyes, letting go. 

He wrapped his arms around him, one hand in tangled red hair out of habit. Right was breathing heavily, something shaky and stuttering. Reginald found himself unable to speak, unable to say a single thing, home at last. 

"Sorry," Right breathed against his hair, as if any of it was his fault. As if Reginald blamed him in the least. "Not sure what they've done to me." 

"I'll find out," Reginald promised wetly, "We'll kill them. I'll do it myself." 

As soon as he found a name, they were dead. He was making that a priority. The good doctor had to take extreme measures to save his life, certainly, but someone took advantage of him and _reprogrammed his mind_ in a horrifying, queasy assault and Reginald was going to flay their skin from their bones. 

"We need to go, Boss!" Sven was shouting over at them, panicked. 

"You're coming." Reg's voice wavered. 

He had to be. There was so much left to do, to rebuild, they needed to find the rest of the family and reunite the Toppats. Find whoever had destroyed them, left them so low, and make sure they paid for it all. Figure out who turned Right into this, and make their deaths good and slow. 

"If you still want." 

Oh, he hated that response. Reginald shoved him, eyes fierce as the other stared down at him. 

One eye was a red screen, built into a metal plate. Unfamiliar. It looked inflamed at the edges, painful, so he was very, very careful.

The metal was warm to the touch, unlike his arm, which Right seemed to feel, considering how he jumped when Reginald skimmed his fingers over it. Something odd was in his expression, something raw, he was asking Reginald something but he wasn't sure what.

Reginald pressed his wet lips to Right's, briefly, in front of the remnants of their civilization. Just for a moment, necessary and needed, if the hitch in breath against his lips was a judge. A quick, softly domestic kiss, quick enough to just let him know nothing is changed. 

Nothing, except Right is broken and tired, shell-shocked, looks about ready to drop, is partly replaced by metal and blinks like he's afraid of falling asleep. 

Nothing, except Reginald looks a decade older than he is and is too anxious to sleep properly, is fighting exhaustion at every step to find his family and save them all. To prove himself one more time. 

Nothing is changed, but everything is different now. But Reginald still loves him and he's still his Right Hand, if he wants it. 

"If _you_ want," Reginald replies, being helped up by two different Toppats, and Right is assisted by three. 

"Get them _inside._ Please!" Sven calls out in frustration. 

Reginald lets him go, falling from his fingertips and the hint of a smile is barely visible among metal and moustache. His right hand is intact, and they will survey their uncertain future together.

Everything is different, but they each have one constant in their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Henry about Charles: "Meeting him was like coming home. <3 I work with him daily and I will never say anything."
> 
> Reginald about RHM: "He looked stupid and I ignored him for years and then told him I thought he was an idiot. We are married now."


End file.
